


More than the World

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Sentimental, Short & Sweet, Sleeping Together, soppy beyond belief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Aziraphale realizes during a night of special closeness just what it meant when Crowley said he had lost his best friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 134





	More than the World

Aziraphale lay in his bed at two in the morning, though he hadn’t been asleep. More like drifting aimlessly through the night, his mind relaxed, his body looser than normal, and his soul comforted by the presence of his dearest friend beside him.

Not that Crowley _knew_ he was lying in the bed.

There had been a lot of drinking that evening, more than usual, in celebration of their freedom from Heaven and Hell. Sometime after midnight Crowley had passed out on the sofa, and nothing Aziraphale could do would wake him, even after sobering himself up and trying a miracle. 

So he simply sat in his chair, watching his friend as he lay in an awkward sprawl. An hour passed, and while not sleepy, Aziraphale felt a peaceful drowsiness and a contentment, until Crowley suddenly shouted out and started thrashing around.

“My dear fellow—“ He didn’t reach the sofa before Crowley twisted violently with another loud cry and slid off onto the floor. 

He didn’t waken, though. Aziraphale reached him, and touched his shoulder, but Crowley was still lost to a deep slumber. There were no more cries, just odd little mutterings and murmurings, while his body twitched here and there. 

And so he gently picked his friend up and carried him upstairs to the bedroom, miracled him into pyjamas, and lay him under the satin sheets. No more falling off of sofas tonight.

Though he wasn’t sleepy himself, he put on his pyjamas and climbed into bed, telling himself it was solely because he didn’t want Crowley to have a nightmare without immediate comfort available.

That was all this was – only one friend being there for the other.

The fact that now, another hour later, Crowley had shifted onto his side and had laid his arm across Aziraphale’s chest was purely incidental.

And no doubt accidental as well.

Still, he had to admit that it felt extremely _nice_.

He sighed. Who was being comforted _now?_

A little more time passed. Rain pattered against the windowpanes. The air felt a bit cooler, so he snapped his fingers at the bedroom fireplace. The kindling there burst into flames, then settled down into a soft blaze that cast golden shadows across the bed.

Then Crowley stirred.

The contentment Aziraphale had been experiencing was suddenly tinged by a mild nervousness. _Don’t let him panic when he wakes…_ Images of an angry Crowley surfaced, of all the times he strenuously objected to being called kind or good.

What would he do upon finding himself in Aziraphale’s bed?

A tingling shiver spread through his body as Crowley shifted, murmured wordlessly, and then slowly stretched out the arm across Aziraphale’s chest. He wriggled those long, slender fingers.

He felt Crowley’s entire body, lying close alongside his, touching in so many places – he felt it tense all together – and then relax again as the arm settled down across his chest once more, stilled.

Aziraphale let out a long breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Hey,” Crowley whispered, his head so close as to nearly be on Aziraphale’s pillow. “How did I get in your bed?”

_He hasn’t moved that arm…_ a small miracle. “You didn’t seem comfortable on the sofa, my dear.”

“Mm.” Crowley let out a big yawn. “Is it morning?”

“A little after two, I believe.” _He hadn’t turned away from him_.

“Hm. I could sleep more….”

“Yes? All right.” Aziraphale felt another shiver down his body. “It’s fine.” _Stay until morning. Or forever_.

Crowley lifted his head a bit to gaze around the room. “Fire’s nice.”

Aziraphale saw golden light flicker over Crowley’s face, and saw a flame reflected in his eyes. “It’s lovely.”

Crowley lowered his head, and this time it actually _was_ on Aziraphale’s pillow. “Never shared a bed before.”

That surprised him. Surely in six thousand years – being a demon and all— “Not once?”

“Nope. You?”

“Of course not.” Then, feeling a bit bolder now, because Crowley had neither objected to being there nor turned away nor even moved his arm, Aziraphale said softly, “I like it. It feels _comforting_.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Good word.” Crowley briefly tightened his arm around Aziraphale’s chest. “ _You_ are comforting.”

“I am?” Why was he trembling just now…. He lay his arm atop Crowley’s. “You were having a dream – that is, earlier, when you were asleep on the sofa. A nightmare, I think – you cried out, anyway. Do you remember it? I wanted to help you….”

“Don’t know what you mean.” 

Then the flames in the fireplace suddenly flared up, and Crowley stiffened as he raised his head to look at it. “Damnation – the _fire_.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, instantly damping it down to smoldering embers. “I’m so sorry.” He brushed his hand over Crowley’s forehead and down his cheek. “I thought you liked it.”

“It’s the damn dream,” Crowley murmured. “I do remember. I dreamt the bookshop was burning again…and you were gone with the fire, and—“ There was a choking sob. “And I’d lost you forever.”

_Were those tears?_ Aziraphale gasped as his fingers touched the wet streaks. “My dear – I’m _so sorry_.” He wiped the tears away. “I came back to you as soon as I could.”

Darker, softer shadows enveloped them as he caressed Crowley’s face, and then his hair. “I love you,” he whispered without hesitation. The truth didn’t need to be held in abeyance any longer.

He felt the tremor along Crowley’s body, now so tight against his own. Aziraphale left off touching his face, and put his arm around him in a close embrace while he dared not speak another word.

The tremors gradually subsided. Crowley lowered his head onto Aziraphale’s chest, with the soft hair on top of his head just brushing his chin. “Angel, do you know what I was doing when you found me – in that bar?”

Aziraphale had been discorporated then, everything hazy, not really sure what was real or not. “Well, you were drinking.” He frowned as he thought back over that disorienting encounter. “You said you had lost your best friend.”

He’d forgotten all about that until now, in the chaos of the ensuing hours of that dreadful day. 

“Yeah,” Crowley replied. “I lost my best friend. In a fire. In a bookshop.”

_I’m so sorry_ , he had said, back then, without even realizing that _he_ was the only best friend Crowley could ever have. How could it be otherwise? 

So he’d gone to get drunk and simply wait for the world to end? “You gave up.”

“Of course I did.” Crowley’s voice turned ragged. “No need to stop Armageddon anymore – bring it on. Didn’t care who came for me – angel, demon – what difference did it make? To hell with the world.” Then his voice changed into heartbreak. “ _My_ whole world had already ended.”

Aziraphale stroked his hair. _Not for me – he shouldn’t have felt that way just for me_. “I would never have wanted that – my dear Crowley, you shouldn’t love me that much.”

“Can’t help it.” He raised his head to place a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek. “I do love you that much. More than the world.”

“But you mustn’t ever even _think_ about dying for my sake, Crowley.” The idea chilled his very soul. “No matter what happens – please don’t ever think that way again. _Please_.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” Crowley said softly. “If _I_ were gone, that is, and you were left alone here forever.”

The chill in his soul turned to ice. A world without Crowley…

Never had he imagined such a thing, not in all these centuries, for there had been only one constant in his life through six thousand years. Only one friend, ever just one companion, and the one being who would always return to him no matter how far or how long he strayed.

What would his world be without Crowley, but a hollow space without end, expanding into an empty eternity. What would _he_ be, except bereft of the only love that had ever struck deeper than heavenly love. To not feel that again would be unbearable, and in that moment, he understood.

He touched Crowley’s face. “There’s no parting for us then, is there?” He tilted Crowley’s head up to look into his golden eyes. “Of course there isn’t.” 

_Let us love forever, then, if we can._ He touched his lips to Crowley’s, and kissed him as if it were not the first kiss, but the last one as well, and all the ones in between that would stretch -- in his dearest longing -- all the way to the end of time.

As the touch deepened and lengthened, he felt Crowley surge against him with a shuddering wave, arms holding him strongly, one hand behind his head clasping fervently. Aziraphale lost all words for what he felt, left only with pure sensation, the intense reverberation of a love that echoed through his heated soul as he gave and received in equal measure – a love beyond reason.

A tinge of sorrow darted through him when they did break apart, but not for long, for he knew they were hardly finished.

“You know,” Crowley said with the faintest hitch in his voice, “I’ve thought about this a million times. You _never_ kissed me that way in my dreams.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I put the whole world into it, my dear.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, then smiled as well. “That explains it, then.” 

The intensity of the moment lessened as he felt Crowley’s body relax against his, solid and comfortable in a looser embrace. Aziraphale caressed his arm, his chest, wherever he could reach. “It was perfect,” he said. “Though that doesn’t mean we couldn’t try to improve on perfection, does it?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could.” Crowley let his fingers drift across Aziraphale’s lips. “If not tonight, maybe in one of the million nights to come.”

Aziraphale kissed his fingers. “Or a million and one nights,” he replied.

And then they kissed again, perhaps without _quite_ the same fervor as that first glorious kiss, but it didn’t matter one bit to Aziraphale.

All that mattered, all that he wanted, was to hold on to the world -- _his_ world -- as long as creation would let him.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I realize that this is a variation on my earlier story, "Such Stuff as Dreams are Made On", but I love doing multiple riffs on the same theme, and this one is a bit more serious overall, I think, and just different enough.


End file.
